roses lying on the breakfast table, a big heap, with odd corners and
points sticking up all over it, and under the roses a white napkin, and
under the napkin treasures of all sorts--a book from father, a little
work-box from mother, with a picture of Windermere on the outside, and
inside the most delightful cottons and needles and bits of
bright-coloured stuffs; a china doll's dinner-service from Aunt Emma, a
mug from nurse, a little dish full of big red strawberries from
gardener, and last, but not least, Olly's present--a black paint-box,
with colours and brushes and all complete, and tied up with a little
drawing-book which mother had added to make it really useful. At the top
of the heap, too, lay two letters addressed in very big round hand to
"Miss Milly Norton," and one was signed Jacky and the other signed
Francis. Each of these presents had neat little labels fastened on to
them, and they were smothered in roses--deep red and pale pink roses,
with the morning dew sprinkled over them.

"We got all those roses, mother and me, this morning, when you was fast
asleep, Milly," shouted Olly, who was capering about like a mad
creature. "Mother pulled me out of bed ever so early, and I putted on my
goloshes, and didn't we get wet just! Milly, _isn't_ my paint-box a
beauty?"

But it's no good trying to describe what Milly felt. She felt as every
happy little girl feels on a happy birthday, just a little bit
bewitched, as if she had got into another kind of world altogether.

"Now," said father, after breakfast, "I'm yours, Milly, for all this
morning. What are you going to do with me?"

"Make you into a tiger, father, and shoot you," said Olly, who would
have liked to play at hunting and shooting games all day long.

"I didn't ask you, sir," said Mr. Norton, "I'm not yours, I'm Milly's.
Now, Milly, what shall we do?"

"Will you take us right to the top of Brownholme, father? You know we
haven't been to the very top yet."

"Very well, we'll go if your legs will carry you. But you must ask them
very particularly first how they feel, for it'll be stiff work for
them."

Not very long after breakfast, and before they started for their walk,
Aunt Emma's pony carriage came rattling up the drive, and she, too,
brought flowers for Milly, above all a bunch of water-lilies all wet
from the lake; and then she and mother settled under the trees with
their books and work while the children started on their walk.

But firs